


The End and the Beginning.

by StrawberryWhorecake



Series: The Inquisitor's Lion [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, DLC, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Romance, Sappy, Trespasser - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-11
Updated: 2015-09-11
Packaged: 2018-04-20 04:43:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4773977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrawberryWhorecake/pseuds/StrawberryWhorecake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place during trespasser dlc.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End and the Beginning.

Solas was gone. He vanished into the eluvian so quietly that Artemisia did not even notice. Her thoughts were focused elsewhere. Her eyes darted to her severed forearm. Blood poured rapidly from her arm. It felt surreal, as though it were not even her body. The pain from the anchor was replaced with a new pain and she could not tell if one were better than the other. 

Her heart beat rapidly in her chest. She was alone. Panic set in. Artemisia had crossed through this eluvian alone. Dorian and Cassandra were injured from battle. Varric told her to go ahead without them for fear of losing Solas, for fear of losing the only way to save her life. She shut her eyes tight. She had to get out of here on her own. She pulled her wounded arm close to her chest and tried to stand. Her feet faltered and she fell. Artemisia landed face down in the dirt. A harsh cry of pain escaped her throat as tears streamed down her face. She might bleed to death if she didn’t get help. Her body grew weaker with every moment that passed. Hope drained from her body as she realized that she would die here. 

Cullen’s face flashed before her eyes. Warm tears flooded down her cheeks as she thought of him. The man she married only days before, and already they were torn apart. She needed him now. Needed to hear his voice, his breathy laugh and the things he whispered in the dead of night that made her blush. She needed to feel his calloused yet gentle hands on her body. She needed the only person who ever made her feel like she had any worth. She remembered his worried look before she left, his furrowed brows as he eyed the anchor on her hand. It looked bruised, the skin seemed paper thin, and waves of energy from the fade shot out at any moment. He said only a simple phrase before she went through the eluvian. Come back. Cullen said. He needed her. 

“Fuck!” She moaned as she sat up. She was not dying here. She took the dagger from her belt and away the cloth from her coat. She clenched her teeth against the pain as she wrapped the torn fabric around her severed arm and tied it off. It would do, for now. Using her hand for balance Artemisia stood again. She staggered for only a moment before she could walk steady. She took slow tentative steps with her teeth clenched. 

“Artemisia?” A voice rang out through the clearing. 

“Cassandra!” She cried out hoarsely, truly thankful to hear her friend’s voice. The seeker ran through, pausing slightly to stare at the petrified Qunari. The seeker’s eyes grew large when she saw Artemisia. 

“What happened?” She gasped. Cassandra came closer and Artemisia noticed the gash in her shoulder.

“Solas. He…” Artemisia stammered. “It was the only way.”

“What was he…?”Cassandra shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. We need to get you back to the Winter Palace.”

Without waiting for reply, Cassandra threw Artemisia’s arm over her shoulder and pulled her back through the eluvian.

 

Cullen leaned against the wall of the cell and sighed. He crossed his arms and stared keenly at the eluvian. He had to force himself to stop pacing. It brought too many worried stares from Josephine and Leliana. And then they usually tried to console him with useless platitudes. 

“I’m sure she will be fine, Cullen. She has faced worse than a few Qunari.” Leliana had said. Josephine had simply told him not to fret. He didn’t respond. He didn’t want to talk or be reassured. He only wanted Artemisia safe in his arms. It wasn’t the Qunari that worried him, but the anchor on her hand.

Cullen noticed days ago how bad it looked. He said nothing at first, not wanting to worry her. As she slept, he watched her hand clench, her face twist in pain. Her fingers, normally round and thick, had grown thin. The skin of her wrist clung to the bone, fading from a healthy pink to a dark purple. 

Cullen worried for her when she went into any battle, but he tried not to let her see. He had complete confidence in her abilities. She was a force of nature with her bow. But how could she defeat an enemy within her own body?

Josephine tried to get him to join her outside, in the endless job of appearing as though everything was under control for the Orlesian nobles. Cullen had little patience for The Game under normal circumstances; she couldn’t possibly expect him to start playing now. Not when Artemisia -his wife- was in mortal danger. 

He shut his eyes tightly against the wave of emotion that hit him. He remembered her standing before him in her white dress. He remembered how her orange hair bounced on her shoulders, how her face blushed through her freckles. She bit her lip and smiled while he recited his vows. Tears forming in her eyes while she spoke hers. 

He remembered the way she laughed as she led him through the empty corridors to her room. She hid him in alcoves when she heard footsteps. He pulled her against him as they hid from servants and nobles, her face a constant red. She took the glove from his hand and intertwined their fingers together. Even now he could still feel the warmth from her body as he moved over her, he could still see her eyes shut tight against the flood of her release, could still hear her cry out his name in a hoarse whisper. He awoke with her warm body clinging to his and found himself unable to fathom how he could deserve this woman, but the truth was he did not deserve her, and nothing he did would ever change that. Yet she was still here, smiling and blushing as he covered his bride’s face in soft kisses. 

The door opened and shut with a soft click. Cullen opened his eyes to see Leliana, Divine Victoria, eyeing him. 

“Nothing yet?” She asked. Cullen shook his head. 

“It’s been hours. I suppose it would be foolish of me to tell you to go get some rest.”  
“It would.” He said, his voice barely a whisper. 

Josephine entered the room, speaking to both of them. “I think the council is appeased for now, but soon they are going to want to know…”

Cullen was about to cut her off, about to tell her what he thought of the council when the eluvian began to crackle with magical energy. The three of them stared wordlessly as the reflective image vibrated. With a flash of light a figure came through the mirror. 

Varric glanced at them. His face bruised, his jacket stained with blood. He sighed. 

“Varric!” Cullen called. “The Inquisitor…is she…?” He couldn’t finish the sentence. Varric held up his hands. 

“Relax, Cullen. She’s alive, but uhh…” Varric trailed off. Cullen felt his chest tighten as every horrid scenario rushed through his mind. The mirror sparked again as Cassandra came through. Her shoulder wounded, blood dripped from her nose. Artemisia’s arm was draped about her neck as Cassandra pulled her along. Cullen felt a rush of relief at the sight of her, but then he noticed her arm. 

Cassandra faltered, and Cullen moved quickly to take Artemisia. Cassandra slumped against Varric in exhaustion. The eluvian flashed again as Dorian came through. Artemisia seemed to realize where she was; Cullen wrapped his arms tightly around her and lowered her to the floor. He cradled her weakened body against his. She looked up to him, relief filling her eyes.

“Cullen.” She whispered. “I was so worried. I thought I was going…”

He shushed her softly. He didn’t want to hear the words, didn’t want to think about how she thought she would never see him again. Instead he looked up to the other three.

“What happened?” He demanded. 

“Solas.” Cassandra said. 

“What?” The advisors said in unison. 

“He saved me.” Artemisia whispered hoarsely as she looked up at Cullen. “The anchor was killing me.”

Cullen softly brushed his hand against her cheek. Her skin was pale and frozen. Her bright blue eyes were dull and grey. 

“What did he want?” Leliana asked. “Why was he there?”

“It’s a fascinating tale that we can discuss later.” Dorian interrupted. “But right now, I think we should deal with the severely wounded Inquisitor.”

Cullen looked at her severed arm, wrapped in the cloth of her own coat; blood soaked through the material. Softly Cullen unwrapped the fabric and examined the wound. His heart clenched as Artemisia hissed in pain. 

“It needs to be cauterized.” He said quietly. Artemisia’s eyes shot open. She tried to shake her head. He knew she hated fire. He inhaled deeply. “We have to, love.” He whispered as he took her head in his hands. “It’s the only way to stop the bleeding.”

She shut her eyes tight as tears rolled down her cheek. He looked up to Leliana.

“Is there a surgeon here?”

“I will find one.” Josephine answered. “But shouldn’t we move her?”

“I’m not dragging her out in front of those people to be a spectacle.” He replied. “We’ll do it here. Then we can move her when we get rid of those people.”

Josephine hurried from the room. Few found it hard to argue with him when he took on the role of the commander. He could feel Artemisia’s heart beating heavily in her chest. Her breathing quickened. His joy with having her back alive collided with his pain at seeing her like this. 

“Cassandra,” Leliana said. “Perhaps Varric could take you to the healer. Your wound looks bad.”

“No.” Cassandra said. “I am fine.” 

Her face, inscrutable, was fixed on Artemisia, who stared back wordlessly.

Josephine returned quickly, the surgeon in tow. Cullen recognized the woman from their own ranks. He was thankful to have someone from the Inquisition handle this. Beneath her arm were rolls of muslin gauze, and in her hand was a poker. Artemisia squirmed at the sight. Cullen positioned her to sit up. She pressed her back against his chest. 

“I can’t do this.” She said. He wrapped his arms tight around her and buried his face in her hair. 

“You can.” He said. 

Cassandra kneeled beside Artemisia and took her hand in her own. 

“Look at me.” She said softly. Artemisia did, her eyes filled with fear. “You are my dearest friend, and stronger than anyone I know.”

Artemisia choked a laugh. “I’m not stronger than you. You could kick my ass.”

Cassandra smiled. “That’s not what I mean. ”

Silently the surgeon kneeled beside Artemisia with the red-hot poker. Cassandra kept her attention as Cullen raised the severed arm. He wrapped his other hand tightly around Artemisia’s waist and waited. Cullen kept his cheek against hers. He knew when the searing rod made contact with her skin. 

Her scream filled his ears and broke his heart. Her legs kicked and thrashed. She tried to move, tried to squirm away but Cullen held her body tight while Cassandra squeezed her hand. The surgeon was quick, efficient, but it seemed an eternity. When the task was finally complete, Artemisia had passed out from the pain. 

 

 

Her sleep was fretful and full of strange dreams, none of which she could remember upon waking. She stirred, she tried to move her hand, but it would not budge. She could still feel it, feel the fingers and the wrist. Yet it would not obey her commands. Her eyes opened heavily. She could hear quiet voices not far away. 

“…They said she would be fine. Just to watch for a fever.”

“That is good. I am sorry to bother you, Cullen. I just wanted to make sure that the Inquisitor was well.”

“It’s no bother, Josephine. How is the council? Are they demanding blood, yet?”

“Don’t worry about them. I can hold them off for a little while longer.”

A door shut softly. The soft sound of boots pacing the floor filled the room. She tried to open her eyes; they were slow to adjust to the light. She was in her room at the Winter Palace. Afternoon light flooded in through the windows. 

Cullen stood against one of the many windows. He was lightly dressed, only a linen shirt and his light leather jerkin. His tousled curls shone in the sunlight, yet his gaze was intent and serious. She smiled softly to herself. Beside her she heard a loud bark. She jumped, surprised before she remembered the mabari that Cullen found. 

“What are you going on about?” Cullen asked the dog before turning. The mabari barked again. Cullen glanced over, annoyed. But when he saw that Artemisia watching him, his gaze softened. He rushed to her side and took her hand in his. 

“You’re awake.” He said with a sigh. “How are you feeling? Do you want anything?”

She smiled lazily through heavily lidded eyes. “I feel sore. How long have I been asleep?”

“Only about a day and a half.”

Her eyes grew wide. “Really?”

Cullen smiled and nodded, but his face quickly grew serious. 

“How does your arm feel?”

Artemisia looked down at the nub wrapped in bandages. It still seemed surreal to her. 

“It feels like it’s still there.” She said. “Like I feel like I could move my fingers.”

Cullen nodded. “I’ve heard soldiers say similar things.” He looked down. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted me to write your family, to tell them of your injury.”

“No.” She said simply. She had tried to make an effort with her family in the past two years, but it was to no avail. They disapproved of everything she did, they disapproved of the Inquisition, and they disapproved of Cullen. There was nothing that could please them, which had been the reason she had fled in her adolescence, but that was so many years ago. Now she had just crossed into her thirtieth year, and it was time to start anew. 

“Are you sure?” He persisted. “They are your family.” 

She smiled and trailed her finger down his cheek, over the stubble. “You’re my family.”

Cullen’s eyes softened. His shoulders sank. He slowly leaned over and placed a gentle, warm kiss on her forehead. He brushed the tendrils of hair away from her face. Artemisia frowned and looked at her arm. 

“Are you upset by…I mean…Do you still…?”

Cullen cut her off. “I know what you’re going to say, and don’t be ridiculous.”

She laughed softly. Tears streamed quietly down her cheeks. Cullen said nothing; he climbed atop the bed beside her and pulled her against his chest. The tears flowed unbidden as she buried her face in his warm body. Her body shook with sobs. 

“I’m a freak.” She sobbed.

“No, you’re not.” He whispered. 

“No one will take me seriously anymore. I’m practically an invalid.”

“That’s not true.”

“I can’t even use my bow!”

He was silent for a moment. “We can get you a crossbow for an arm. I’m sure Varric has a contact somewhere.”

She choked out a laugh. 

“The anchor was the only thing that made me the Inquisitor. Now that it’s gone…”

“That’s not the only reason you were made Inquisitor. You were made Inquisitor because you had the ability to make hard decisions. Because you were strong, determined. Because you were passionate.”

“Everyone hates the Inquisition now.”

“Yes, well…” He trailed off. Artemisia pulled away slightly and met his gaze. His brown eyes were filled with sympathy. 

“What if…” She asked slowly. “What if we disbanded the Inquisition?”

Cullen pondered the question for a moment. “Is that what you want?” He asked.  
“I…I don’t know. I feel like there’s nothing more we can offer the world. Become slaves to Orlais or the Chantry. We wanted to restore order, and we did. But…I don’t know.”

“I knew this might be a possible outcome before the Exalted Council began. And as long as you’re with me, I don’t care.”

Artemisia sighed. His words were comforting. 

“I love you.” She said. 

“And I love you.” He replied. Their lips met in a soft, undemanding kiss, his body was warm. She moved to wrap her arms around his body, before she remembered that there was only the one. He pulled her tightly against him and in an instant she felt so cherished that she didn’t care that she only had one arm. She fisted her fingers in his hair and broke their kiss.

“I want you.” She whispered. He gave her a lustful smile.

“You need rest.” He said. She pouted and he chuckled softly. 

“There will be time for that later, Wife.” 

Her heart skipped a beat. She rested her head against the pillows. 

“Will you stay with me?” She asked. 

“Of course.” He whispered as he lay beside her and pulled her into his embrace. Artemisia sighed contentedly, knowing that whatever came her way she would always have him.


End file.
